Saturday 14/05/05

Spoke to the other lady in the B&B over breakfast. She was going to cycle ‘somewhere’ on the Westside today, to return to the mainland on Monday. I set out on the Uig postbus at midday, which is packed out. One large chap even took two big planks back with him. And then someone else wanted to come on at Macaulay Road. When I ordered my ticket, another passenger handed his money to the driver. She thought it was my money, but that confusion was easily sorted. We didn’t go down to Scaliscro Lodge, and I was dropped off at Kinloch Roag at 12.45. Headed down to the lodge and spoke to a guy who was doing push-ups in the middle of the road. He must have left that bike at the top of the drive. Crossed the bridge near the Lodge and commenced the 5 mile bogslog to Kinloch Resort. After circling the eastern shore of Loch Morsgail, I had some trouble finding the trail to the Beehive Dwellings under Scalabhal. Reached there at 1.45 and took some pictures, even inside the single intact house. Once across the Abhainn Bheinn na Gille the fun started: there is no visible track. Behind me a mass of cloud at medium to high level moves across the sky. The sun keeps shining warm and bright. I take a course at 45° to the right of the sun, i.e. southwest, and carry on in what I think is the right direction. No it is not. I end up at gridreference 118195, 1 km west of the place where I should be. The terrain is wet and boggy, treacherous. Negotiate one little hillock after another as I go due south. Mountains of North Harris loom up ahead, from Stuabhal to Teileasbhal, Sron Scourst; then Oireabhal, Sron Uladal (very prominent). Loch Leatha runs parallel to the course. As I approach Ceann Loch Rèasort, Loch Resort hoves into view. Cannot see right down its full length, but it’s very pretty country. As I am off course, I end up in a nasty bit of broken country; the normal route approaches Kinloch Resort from the northeast. I arrive there at 3 o’clock, 2 hours and 15 minutes after leaving Morsgail. There is a white house on the far side of the Abhainn Mor Rèasort. The bridge over this water is destroyed; one of the pillars has been turned over by a massive flood. On the near shore is another house, with a rowan tree in front. With the legend in mind, I wonder what tales this tree could tell. The house’s windows and doorways have been blocked up with stones. After half an hour’s break for lunch, I head northeast again. Very lovely spot, but also very sad. Probably because the cloud has now moved across to obscure the sun, and the mountains to the south look very dark. Wisps of cloud flit across some summits. I keep Beinn a Bhoth due right as I resume my bogslog back. Promptly sink into a bog upto over my knee – I thought that patch of ground looked dodgy with sphagnum moss in amongst that dried mud. Continue northeast and find myself off course again, this time to the east. As I’m only 300 metres out this time, and I do have to circle that loch on its western end, this is easily amended. ¾ mile further on, I finally hit the trail at the Beehives, at 4.45. Quench thirst by drinking out of streams, bit risky. As always I have to divert to the eastern shore of Loch Morsgail. Better stick to the western shore of that unnamed loch at 137212 – its eastern shore is very boggy. Ròineabhal peeps through the valleys from the east, from 6 miles away. As my trousers are very soiled, I put my waterproof overtrouses on to obscure my pants from public view on the road. Reach Morsgail Lodge at 5.30. The road end at Kinloch Roag is reached at 6.10. Here is a sign for Beehives, adorned with a leaflet about ‘know the countrycode before you go’, in reaction to a letter in the Gazette from yours truly. Wait in my little meadow on the far side of the loch for 35 minutes until the Uig bus appears 3 miles away. I choose that spot, in order that I can see it coming. The cuckoo calls here, as it did at Balallan yesterday evening. Oh that sheep’s carcass still lies off the road near the Bernera roadend. It’s being pecked apart by gulls. Return to SY at 7.15, where two youngsters alight. They don’t know whether they’ll go back home tonight. Gawd.